Post Obitum
by Lorelai's Asleep
Summary: I always knew this might happen. I just didn't think it would be today. Warning: Dark subject matter. Proceed at your own risk. Not mine.


**Author's Note: This is the one and only story I have ever written that involves a character's demise. If you can look beyond the premise and into the mindset, you may find yourself hugging a loved one a bit tighter today and that's what matters.**

**Post Obitum**

The last time I spoke to you, Mulder, I didn't think twice about it. Death arrived, waited for its moment and staked his claim before I even noticed his presence. It's not like I never thought it would touch us - just not today, not like this. Not after everything we've survived. I'd convinced myself that we were, somehow, invincible. I was wrong.

All those answers you- we- wanted, we'll never find now. I haven't the energy to pursue them. You were right, Mulder. That day in your hallway, you were right. I can't do this alone, either. When will this ache in my chest stop? Or the pain in my head? I'm a doctor; I should know these things.

I hate myself for being weak, then I hate myself for trying to be strong. You deserve my tears, Mulder. You own them. They're yours. If I let the pain go, I let you go as well, don't I? And that's not something I can do. Not now. Maybe not ever. The guilty should be punished and I am guilty. I'm a law enforcement officer. I know that. Had I stayed with you, you might still be alive or I'd be dead along with you. Either is preferable to this hell.

Damn you, Mulder. Answer me.

I once told you I wouldn't trade a day. That's not entirely true. Scratch that. I'm a liar, a goddamned liar and we both know it. How many times did I say I was fine when, really, I was close to screaming? How many times did I argue with you about some theory when I was really in awe of you? And I wonder if you ever realized how often I steeled myself against you, just you - not because of some policy, but because you triggered a response that scared me with its intensity. I talked the honesty talk, Mulder, but I never walked the walk.

So, given the chance to redo our last day together, want to hear what I'd change? I know. It's silly, but I want to tell you anyway...

I'd wear my black pants suit with the short jacket and snug trousers because you once said, "Nice outfit." I don't know how often you noticed, but it thrilled me when you did. I'd even wear perfume. I never do when we're working, but I would today. I might even allow my hair to curl instead of forcing it into my usual G-woman professional do.

Instead of being annoyed at your bad jokes about my fixation on a much-needed double-shot latte this morning, I would appreciate your attempt to make me laugh after our grueling session with Skinner. I'd accept our assignment and be ready to go the first time you beeped the horn outside my building. I'd even let you listen to that awful 'Elvis Live at the MGM Grand' cassette while we drive north to our destination: Valmont, New Jersey. No complaints although I still wouldn't have let you sing along. Well, maybe just one chorus of 'Suspicious Minds.'

When you broach your theory about the possibility of The Jersey Devil being a distant relative to Sasquatch, I'd listen without sighing to myself. Oh, I always heard you, Mulder. My foundation in science never precluded the possibility of truth midst the ramblings of your mind. Only I didn't listen well enough, did I? I heard the words, but not the meaning behind them, especially when it came to how you felt about me. You were my very own code-talker, but I didn't take the time to translate. Sometimes, you were blatantly clear and still, I didn't understand. I didn't dare believe you would be so obvious.

We'd turn off the highway at dusk, meet with the local sheriff and start looking for a place to eat. You'd still want pizza and I'd want a decent salad bar. We'd still settle for Chester's, a roadhouse that dared to call itself a restaurant. Had I known how precious those last hours were to become, I might have found the smoke and noise colorful and the patrons tolerable. Instead of picking at my food and maintaining my silence, I'd have removed my jacket and ordered a double bourbon so I could flirt with you and not worry about the consequences; so I could admit to myself that I wanted those consequences. Badly.

I would...saunter, yes saunter, to the jukebox and opt for only slow songs - the sad, country kind places like Chester's always seem to keep on their playlist forever - the kind that understand want and need and sorrow. I'd look back to find you watching me and wouldn't turn away after a few extra, stolen seconds. I'd gather my bourbon- induced courage and return with a slow, measured walk and say, "Dance with me." A smile would twitch at the corners of your mouth as you feign surprise, but you'd say yes. I know because I always saw the question in your eyes: when, Scully? When is it time for me? Ask me again, Mulder, and I'll tell you: now, always, forever.

We'd allow ourselves the luxury of a thinly veiled opportunity to embrace in public because there's music playing. With your arms around me, I'd relax into your hold, your hand sure against my back, confident you'll guide me through the crowd while I focus on you. My cheek would press against your chest and our hands would entwine above your heart. Breathing in the scent of laundered cotton and the tang of sweat, I'd commit to memory the sound of your heartbeat and your rough baritone humming against my hair while we move across the tiny dance floor.

The singer would croon his lament through the neon glow that envelops us and when, at last, I lift my head to see your face, you'd lean in and press your lips to mine, a promise of heaven and heat, but which now will never be.

Had I realized, I would have turned off both cell phones. I would have told the local P.D. "I'll take care of it in the morning."

That's what I would have done.

Instead, I ordered a sensible meal, kept my jacket on and my feet on the ground. When the call came for an immediate autopsy, you weren't surprised by my compliance. I insisted you stay while I sliced and diced.

"Good night, St. Scully", you teased.

"I'll see you in the morning," was my standard response as I rose to leave you, a slightly forlorn look on your face that I chose to ignore. When I reached the door, I turned back, our dance only a wisp of desire, my wilted salad half-eaten, my club soda gone flat. Dim light from the cheap, tin fixture hanging above the table cast your features into sharp relief. Your jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, necktie loosened. Your hair was a little mussed and I could read the fatigue in the line of your shoulders as you sat with hands clasped above propped elbows, an unreadable expression on your face.

I should have paid more attention to the four Harleys that rumbled into the gravel lot as I headed for the rental car. I would have noted the rough-looking men that rode them. I might have observed that they were more than already drunk. Instead, duty called and when I got the word from the deputy an hour later, I was up to my elbows in a stranger's viscera. A brawl had erupted at Chester's, a fed was down and it looked bad. Before I even finished sewing up the Y-incision so I could get to you, the deputy was back to tell me not to bother.

Not to bother.

An Agent Gutierrez was dispatched from the Wilmington office, ninety minutes away. I'm still waiting for him to arrive. Don't worry. I won't let them near you, Mulder. I won't leave your side. They wanted to cover your face, but I wouldn't let them. I had to pull my weapon on them, Mulder. I had no choice. I won't let anyone touch you. I won't let anyone else hurt you.

Deputy Meyers, the first officer on-scene, approached me a little while ago. She asked if she could stay with me until Gutierrez arrives. When I asked what happened, she told me the bikers had entered the bar demanding beers and whiskey. The bouncer was held back while the bartender complied, hoping to avoid trouble. That's when another gang member started harassing the waitress, pushing her into a back room. While most of the patrons reacted with stunned silence, you were the sole individual to try to prevent a brutal rape. Your valor was rewarded with a quick, hard slash to the jugular vein with the jagged edge of a broken beer bottle.

If only someone had warned me, I might have been better prepared to deal with the pain in my chest that feels like a mortal wound. My teeth are chattering and I'm sure I'll never be warm again. Meyers brought me some aspirin, Mulder. As if that's going to help.

I always knew this might happen. I just didn't think it would be today. If I'd known, I might have told you the truth, plain and simple. Forget innuendo, Mulder. Forget the yearning looks, the double entendre, the veiled meanings. To hell with playing it safe. I love you more than is sensible and I was a fool not to tell you so every single day.

Gutierrez is here. He's talking to Meyers at the end of the corridor. They're looking at us rather funny, don't you think? Doesn't matter. I won't let them hurt you, Mulder. You know that, don't you? You believe me, don't you? I'm here, right here, and no one is going to bother you while you rest. I'm so tired, Mulder, but I won't fall asleep.

You just rest, my love. Just rest and I'll be here when you wake up.

Please, God, let _me_ wake up.

End ~ Post Obitum


End file.
